Potterlock Stories
by xblurryfacex
Summary: My collection of Potterlock/Johnlock stories I write in my spare time. Hope you enjoy! Please review 3
1. The Sorting Hat

**Hello! So, these stories will range from very long to very short. Hopefully, they will be in the correct chronological order, but hey, I'm only human. Thanks for reading~**

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The huge double doors leading into the great hall swung open with a thud, and the children seated at their respectable tables all turned with hushed glances. The sixty-some new arrivals all took in the sight of the massive hall with bewildered faces and wide eyes. Well, all but one.

Sherlock Holmes looked at the hall with a completely bored expression, arms crossed over his chest, his robes dragging on the ground just a bit since Mycroft had gotten them too large. He had insisted that getting his first year robes so big would ensure at least three more years of wearability, but now, with the sleeves hanging over his hands, he huffed.

The group of children were paraded through the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. All the kids smiled or waved to the frightened first years - Sherlock just scowled. He made eye contact with Mycroft, his seventh year brother at the Slytherin table and made an even sourer face.

All the children were then lined up in front of all the tables, staring at Professor Mcgonagall and the lonely, rickety stool with a worn-out hat sitting on it. She promptly explained what would happen, and the hat began to sing a song. All the children around Sherlock looked fascinated - he himself was not impressed.

Mcgonagall unrolled a scroll with a long list of names on it and began to call up student by student. Each one sat on the stool, had the hat placed on their head, and was sorted into their respective house. _Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Slytherin..._ it went on and on.

"Greg Lestrade!" Mcgonagall said, her voice ringing clear over the quieting Slytherin table welcoming their new member. The boy, who was small and had sandy hair, brown eyes and what seemed like permanently sarcastic eyebrows walked up the steps with the most confidence Sherlock had seen out of any of the shaking children. He was ten times as comfortable in this magical place than that mousy girl Molly Hooper, who had timidly gone to sit and promptly tripped up the stairs. On her way back down to Hufflepuff, she shook with embarrassed tears. Her new house-mates went to comfort her.

Lestrade sat on the stool and looked out at the tables. The hat sat on his head for a moment, debating and muttering before shouting, "Hufflepuff!"

The look of disappointment on his face made Sherlock smirk.

With rousing cheers, the Hufflepuff table welcomed the sad-looking boy. Meanwhile, another name was already being called.

"John Watson!" she called. Sherlock watched a short, scrawny boy with hair dusty blonde and eyes sort of gray-blue. He walked to the stool and sat, his hands buried in the sleeves of his robes, not by mistake like Sherlock, but by choice. The hat was placed on his head. He swung his legs nervously, but almost immediately, it yelled, "Gryffindor!"

As he got down, grinning, he looked at Sherlock and grinned some more. Sherlock blinked in surprise, before hearing his name called.

He walked up, reverting back to a bored look, and tried to keep from tripping like Molly did on his impossibly long robes. He looked at the celebrating Gryffindors, and at John shaking hands with multiple people, including some of the people that had just been accepted there. The hat was placed on his head.

 _Hmmm... another Holmes boy._ The hat's voice rumbled around in his head. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. Could everyone hear what the hat had to say, or was this just in his head?

 _You lot are tricky... impossibly smart, too smart for your own good. You could really go anywhere, though. Daring. Loyal. Cunning._

The hat started to say "Sly-" but Sherlock promptly interrupted.

"Oh, no, no, that's Mycroft's house. Absolutely not."

"Huff-"

"Sentimental. No."

"Gryf-"

"Stuck up. Does everyone always listen to you?"

The hat audibly sighed. "Ravenclaw! You'll fit in there, I'm sure."

Sherlock got up to the clapping and hollering of the Ravenclaw table. He looked at the shocked faces of the other first year students and gave a little smirk, taking a seat amongst blue ties and approving nods.

"Welcome to Ravenclaw!" someone among the many surrounding Sherlock said. He shrugged.

"This will have to do."


	2. The Great Feast (The Sorting Hat cont)

**The continuation of my first chapter (The Sorting Hat)**

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John Watson was welcomed with claps on the back and shaking of hands and the "Welcome to Gryffindor!" echoing around him. A few other first years sat next to him on his left, so he introduced himself, and it instantly seemed like he had more friends here than he had ever had back home. This, it felt, was where he belonged.

Everyone was quiet again, and John watched in awe as the boy with unruly black curls and piercing blue eyes defied the sorting hat completely. When Ravenclaw was finally chosen, and everything was quiet again, John just sat aghast, thinking about the boy. How could someone be so blunt?

"Irene Adler!" Mcgonagall called, and John watched as a beautiful girl with shining black hair and a devilish smile sat down and before the hat even touched her head, it yelled, "Slytherin!"

 _Too bad,_ John thought. _She was pretty._

Again, another name. Only about ten children still remained now. _Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor -_ he greeted the smiling girl called Sarah with a hand shake - _Slytherin, Hufflepuff._

The last boy was called up. "James Moriarty!" He had a smug grin on his face with shaggy black hair that contradicted his pristine robes. When he sat on the stool, the sorting hat was still inches above his head before shouting, "Slytherin!"

Then the hall burst into applause and shouting and cheering and chattering since the ceremony was over. The headmaster gave his speech, explaining rules and welcoming the new students, and then food appeared on the plates before them. John, surprised at first, quickly dug in, chatting it up with the people all around him.

"We'll get you a proper tie," one of the older boys said. "And a good broom!" another interjected. "You'll need a scarf, for when it gets cold." one of the girls reminded them. "And don't forget your honorary house pride flags! For cheering on at the quidditch matches!"

At this last statement, a boy to John's left punched the other lightly in the arm. "You kiddin'? Look at this kid - he's gonna be a star player! He won't be in the stands!" he exclaimed. John grinned and blushed at the statement. He had no idea what quidditch was, but he gathered it was a sport, and quickly decided he wanted to try out as soon as possible.

John came from a muggle family, and a lot of things weren't making sense. But through most of the meal, he just grinned and nodded and talking to people like he knew exactly what he was doing. Then he remembered.

Swinging his legs around the bench, John looked around the Ravenclaw table and found the black-haired boy, Sherlock, sitting with his back to him just a few people away. John tapped him on the shoulder.

Sherlock turned abruptly, a questioning eyebrow raised. "Yes? What do you want?"

John extended his hand. "I'm-"

"John Watson, yes. Muggleborn, judging by your robes. Got a brother, three years older, placed in Hufflepuff. You're not that close, though, but that's not that important. You're father loves his alcohol, and your mother- well, she cared for you most of the time. You have no idea what is going on at this school because you've never seen anything of the likes, and you certainly wouldn't have heard it from your brother. I get that - I've got a brother, nasty, hate him. Did I miss anything?"

John just stared. And stared. And stared.

"Sister." he said quietly.

"What was that?"

"I've got a sister, not a brother."

Sherlock snapped his fingers. "Always miss something, always..." he started to turn back around. "Did you need anything?"

"I was... just going to say..." John was at a loss for words. "You were sort of brilliant- up there, and now. No, not sort of, fantastically brilliant!" he exclaimed, regaining his grin. Sherlock felt the blush rise in his cheeks.

"I - ok." he said simply, a little taken aback.

"What? Did I say something?"

"No, people just don't normally react like that."

"How do they react?"

Sherlock smiled. "A punch in the face normally suffices." he holds out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you."

John takes it. "John Watson - though you already know that."


	3. Quidditch Tryouts

**Just a teeny story with John and quidditch, because why the hell not**

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John Watson clutched the worn old school broom in his hands, telling himself to relax. This was his first flying lesson, and he didn't want to muck it up.

With a blow on her whistle, the coach signaled for the students to rise into the air. John thought about flying, wished to be in the air and - his broom popped underneath him into the air, rocketing straight up and stopping abruptly about six yards above the ground.

A few other students managed to kick off about three yards up, but no one matched the height John had reached. The teacher angrily blew the whistle again. "Alright, Watson, come on back down here then."

Again, John simply thought about where he wanted to go and the broom jolted in his hands, delivering him safely to the ground once more. The other children, who had fallen unceremoniously onto the grass, all glared at John. But he just stared at the broom in his hands. _I flew,_ he thought. _I really flew._

When the whistle next blew, John took off smoothly into the air and sped forward at a dizzying pace. But the speed at which he was traveling was no concern to him - he just grinning and felt the wind in his hair and gripping the broom with both hands for dear life.

After many a flying class and some more proper instruction, little second year John was ready to try out for the quidditch team. His first year flying experience had been better than some of the teams had seen in a long time, only comparing to another young boy wizard from Gryffindor. But John dismissed these and other thoughts and instead focussed on the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team giving instructions.

John was trying out for position of Beater - he lined up with the rest of the bunch, cudgel in hand, and took off into the sky.

Throughout his entire tryout, John didn't notice the people in the stands, cheering them on. He didn't notice Sherlock, leaning against the stands, arms crossed, smirking as he watched John beat the bludgers out of the way. John performed better than any other beater on the Gryffindor team.

"Welcome to the team, kid." the captain said, shaking John's hand and ruffling his hair a bit. John grinned, holding his ratty old school broom and a quaffle. Sherlock smiled.


	4. Late Night Studies

**A fluffy chapter with Johnlock ~ oops**

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"John, pay attention, you twat." Sherlock hit his book in the top of John's nodding-off head. The fourth year jolted back awake, taking the book straight from Sherlock's hand and hitting him back.

"I'm paying attention, you git." he replied, grumpily yawning. HIs hair was mucked from leaning on his hands and his eyes were dropping with sleep. Sherlock shook his head.

"It must be so boring in your little heads!" he cried to himself, mostly, before shoving the potions textbook in front of his friend. "John, you have to score a good mark in this class to stay on the team."

"I know, I know..." John said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm just exhausted. Sorry, go on."

Sherlock started to explain their studies again, but John just dropped off to sleep again. When Sherlock next looked at the boy, he just sighed and put his head in his hands. "John, you are going to fail this exam..." he said to the quiet library air. There was no one else here this late in the night, and so the place was dark except for a single torch that Sherlock had lit when they had come in in the first place.

He would've drug John down here earlier except for the fact he had gotten caught up with that Sarah girl in the common room. Sherlock had been waiting outside for ages before John came stumbling out on his way to quidditch practice. And when Sherlock objected, John simply shushed him. "We've got a game coming up, it's important." he had said.

Sherlock sighed again and read through the pages on his own, letting John sleep. He would get no where with him right now anyway. He looked at how much he had grown into his body - he was not stouter and muscular, and his hair was cut shorter and cleaner to his head. Meanwhile, Sherlock had only grown in height, and was still very thin and lanky. His hair was still unruly and curly, and he hated almost everything about himself.

After about half an hour had passed, Sherlock nudged John's shoulder. "Wake up, John, you got your nap."

When John just groaned and swept Sherlock's hand away, Sherlock thought for a moment. What would wake him up? Give him adrenaline? Keep him awake enough to get some material in his head? Sherlock looked at his peaceful face.

In the spur of the moment, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to John's lips, completely unsure and bewildered at what he was doing. At the movement, John's eyes popped open and stayed that way, with a look at shock on his face. Sherlock blushed profusely, the color rising in his neck and warming his cheeks.

"You needed a burst of adrenaline to keep you awake, at least to study a bit. It was purely to keep you up and going." Sherlock sputtered quickly, swallowing hard. Emotions like what he was feeling were new and weird to him, and he wanted to dispel them as soon as possible. "Now, to make this properly, you-"

John grabbed Sherlock's loosened tie and promptly gave him a kiss, much less dainty than what Sherlock's had been like. Sherlock's eyes widened.

When they broke apart, John just stared at him.

"You twat." he said simply.

"Sorry, what?"

"I hate you." he said before kissing him again.

And that's how John failed his potions exam, almost got kicked off the Gryffindor team, and ended up snogging Sherlock Holmes in the darkened library.


	5. The Match

**The longest story yet; are you excited? I'm pretty happy about this one, guys. Please review! (Also, they are fifth years, just for note.)**

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John's hair was tousled by the wind, slicked back from the speed at which he was flying. The air was crisp, autumn's chill biting through the quidditch pitch. A light breeze favored the quaffle to the left side in short gusts.

In one hand, John held his cudgel, eyes scanning the expanse of the pitch. He allowed himself to hover a bit higher, overlooking the red and yellow uniforms below him. It was a Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game, start of the season, and John wanted to play his best.

He watched the bludgers get released from their case and shoot up into the sky. Instantly, the took off, reckless and wanton towards players on Hufflepuff who had intercepted the quaffle. The Gryffindor captain, Lochlan, blocked a throw and John's house was the one being targeted. He gripped his broom with one white-knuckled hand and his club in the other and started beating off bludger after bludger along with Sarah, who had flare and fire as she fought off the opposite bludger by the goal posts. John whacked the ball so that it soared out above the stands. The crack echoed over the cheers from the students. John twirled the club and grinned at Greg Lestrade, of whom he had made friends with. Lestrade sulked at his teams lower score, so John grinned some more.

The game went on and on, points scored, snitch almost caught. At one point, the golden thing soared right over John's head, promptly followed by two seekers bolting after it. John almost got a foot in the face twice, there.

As the day got later, the air got crisper, and John breathed harder. When it seemed like the game would never be over, and continue on forever, John whacked away a bludger to come face-to-face with the snitch. It was just there, its wings buzzing, just asking to be caught. It's golden body gleamed in the afternoon sun. It twitched in the air, and John was entranced.

His hand loosened on his broom, just a bit, gravitating to the snitch. But he but down on his cheek, backing up from the stationary snitch. If he touched it, he would get fouled and his team would lose points. Snitchnibbed. He turned, trying to focus, right when the Hufflepuff seeker, eyes wide and frightened, cried out, "Watch out!" Before barreling into him.

The two tumbled, John's broom falling from between his legs from shock. The Hufflepuff tried in vain to stay up, willing his broom to go up and support the weight if both boys, but John (who, for lack of anything better, had grabbed onto the Hufflepuff's boot) tried once more to hold up before falling completely.

He looked down at the grass on the pitch, at his broom now flat on the ground and willed himself to concentrate enough to yell, "Accio Nimbus!"

Just feet above the ground, his broom shot up to his hand. Everything halted, as he held on with two hands to his broomstick, which was hovering just high enough so that John's feet didn't touch the ground. The cheers that erupted from the stands was deafening with the chant, "Watson! Watson!" Firing up. To this chorus of his name, John heaved himself back up to his broom, finding his balance once more. He grinned at the red and gold section.

He heard the whoosh of a bludger slicing through the air and, with nothing to beat at it with, he turned and dove, letting the ball miss him just barely. He rocketed down, lifting the nose up just enough so he could sweep across the grass and grab his club, immediately swinging around and hitting a bludger a mile away from his buddy Zack, a chaser. Zack grinned at him over his shoulder, throwing the quaffle through the hoops at the same minute the whistle blew with the catch of the snitch. Elizabeth, Gryffindor's seeker, held the golden object high above her head. John whooped and cheered and circled around the pitch with his team to the shouts in the stands. The rush of adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins was addictive.

He congratulated Hufflepuff, and accepted an apology from their seeker boy with a laugh and a shrug. "Hey, it happens." He said, clapping the fourth year on the back.

People started filing down from their seats and the Gryffindors, still on brooms, beamed at their classmates. The yellow, green, and blue all weeded its way from the red and golden group celebrating. Well, all except for one. A blue scarf stuck out like a sore thumb in the back of the group. John smiled.

"I didn't think you liked quidditch." John said to Sherlock, hovering next to his shoulder.

"I don't." He said, staring at the ground.

"So why did you come today?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Merely to see what the fuss was about. And to be perfectly honest with you, I don't understand why-"

"Oh, piss off." John said. Sherlock met his eyes.

"What?"

"You came to watch me play." He said, smirking. The rush of winning the game still gave him a faster heartbeat and a courageous posture. He didn't know what was coming over him.

A blush rose in Sherlock's cheeks, egregiously obvious against his pale skin. "Don't be ridiculous, John, how could you-"

"Well, Sherlock, seeing as I won the game, I think I deserve something." He said, swiveling to keep himself in Sherlock sight.

To Sherlock's dismay, he found John's wind blown hair and uniform of red and gold extremely cute - what? Of course he didn't. Feelings and sentiment were stupid and he didn't have time for them. The flutter in his heart was purely... congratulatory towards John's win.

"What could I possibly give you?" Sherlock asked, trying to sound bored. A few Gryffindors turned to watch their teammate's conversation.

"I think I deserve a kiss." He said simply. His face was serious for a moment before he grinned again. It was like he couldn't keep the grin off his face.

Sherlock blanched. "Sorry?"

"Well, I just assumed since you like kissing me so much, it's the least you could do. I almost broke a leg out there today. I deserve _something_..."

Sarah, who had been watching a little way off, flew up next to John. "I'd be happy to give you your kiss, John." She said, fully intending to push the Ravenclaw's buttons. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"I'll kiss 'im!" Lochlan shouted. Now it seemed every Gryffindor was watching this play out. John shrugged innocently at Sherlock.

"I've got plenty of takers." He said. "I thought you'd just like-"

Sherlock (who was as tall at John's floating broom was) jumped and grabbed his shirt in his fist, pulling his uniform from its straps, and tugging his broom down with him. He pressed his lips to John's, suppressing all the thoughts in his head, which took a lot of self-control. The Gryffindors immediately started hollering and clapping and laughing at the goofy grin on John's face, and the radiant blush on Sherlock's.

When they broke apart, John grinned like an idiot.

"I hate you." Sherlock said.

"Love you, too, smartass." He replied.


	6. Snowfall

They are sixth years now - also, I live in Arizona so snow is foreign to me and I really want to just lie in it for hours thx

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There are few things that John Watson loved more than snow. He loved quidditch, and he loved his cat, and he loved Sherlock Holmes, but snow certainly was one of life's joys.

So just sitting on the broad steps of the school while the white powder silently coated him was not an unpleasant event. In fact, he rather enjoyed the silence. It did not last long, however.

The thundering of footsteps rounded the corner and students ran down the steps he was sitting on as if he didn't exist. Scarves of all different colors - yellow, red, green and blue alike all blurred past him. He waited for them all to reach the bottom before standing, dusting off his shoulders where snow had collected, and turning to leave. He didn't have a slip for Hogsmeade anyway.

"Where do you think you're going?" a voice caught him by the ear and tugged him back around. Sherlock stood on the steps, arms crossed, a bored expression on his face.

"Sherlock, I can't go. You know that." he said, rolling his eyes.

"Yes, you most certainly can." he held out a permission slip with John's name on it and a signature impeccably similar to his own father's.

"How-"

"Mycroft did teach me a thing or two, surprisingly." he said with a smirk. John grinned and grabbed the from from him, grinning some more. He looked at Sherlock, and then he grinned. That's all he could seem to do - grin.

"Come on, then." Sherlock said, walking behind the bulk of the group of students. John tripped after him.

"I didn't think you liked going to Hogsmeade." he said, somewhere between a question and a statement. And he already knew the answer he wanted to hear from him. From the blush on Sherlock's neck, he could tell the answer he wanted was correct.

"I merely wanted you to be able to go. I only accompany you so you don't get into any trouble." he said, wrapping his scarf more securely around his neck. Now it was John's turn to smirk.

"You _so_ wanted to come." he said. Sherlock gave a glare.

"No, I didn't."

"Uh huh."

"No!"

"Oh shut up, you two!" Greg Lestrade and a few of his friends were turned around rolling their eyes at Sherlock and John. They both did shut up indeed, but not without a withering stare from Sherlock.

The air was crisp and smelled like baking bread in Hogsmeade. Carolers sang in the middle of squares, butterbeer was served all around, and John was in love with the sight of it all.

"It's wonderful here." he said, as he had never been. Sherlock had come once, first year, when his brother made him come along. The devil.

"Hmm, it's fine." Sherlock grumped. They were sitting at a little table outside a cafe with butterbeer each in front of them. John took and drink, then wiped the froth from its place on his upper lip.

"Don't act like you don't love it." John said. And when Sherlock did not respond, but rather stared blankly into the space above John's head, John stooped, gathered a snowball, and hit his friend straight in the face.

This prompted a war of sorts.

"Watson!" Sherlock yelled as John took off in the street, weaving between adults and students alike. A snowball clipped his right leg, so he took a turn down an alleyway. That unfortunately, led nowhere.

Sherlock appeared around the corner, snowball in hand, smirking. "Bad move, John." he said, then threw the snowball like John had at his face. John laughed, packing another one. Here they exchanged fire in the alleyway until they were each laughing and falling into the snow piled up on the ground. They then opted for lying and looking at the sky.

Snowfall collected on their chests and foreheads and entire bodies, really, until both could easily blend in with the ground. John spoke.

"Thank you. For, you know, sneaking me here."

Sherlock sat up and looked at John for a moment, before leaning down and kissing him.

This is not only the story of a fun day in Hogsmeade and light kisses in an alleyway, but also the story of how Greg Lestrade found the two lying in the snow having a snog. This led to quite a scene that should probably not be explained in great detail, but involved a butterbeer poured in the faces of two unsuspecting boys.


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